The Night of the Jackal
by vilestofworms
Summary: PG13 when I realized that Disney movies don't ever have these themeslanguage. Dr. Lecter and Clarice should have been more careful. They've been found by people who've taken measures to ensure their permanent absence.
1. Chacal

Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

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The Night of the Jackal

Ch1: Chacal

Day 5 Surveilance, 1900 Hours.

Couple seen leaving residence. Wearing formal attire- assumed to be heading to an expensive restaurant. Expected time of absence- 4 hours.

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When he had finished writing in the log, he slapped the notebook shut and lay back. He was in the bed of a truck, crammed there under the camper shell where he would have some protection from the elements. In this way too, he would preserve the targets' belief in the uncompromised safety of their residence here. The dossiers on Lecter and Starling (if she wasn't a Mrs. Lecter by now) said that both would be extremely aware of ambushes, so it had become necessary to change his location every day to ensure his own anonymity. This was the last time he would need to do so, however. Five days to learn their habits and routines. Morning- Starling woke up first, went for a jog which usually lasted an hour or so, Lecter awake and moving around as soon as the door closed (their observer had seen them through windows). When Starling returned, they ate breakfast, usually stayed in the house a few more hours, and then left together for various locations. He had followed them a few times, mostly on a motorcycle to avoid being noticed and/or recognized, and observed them usually shopping or at a museum, art gallery, etc.

Later that afternoon they returned home and stayed put for another few hours, and then went out for dinner. Always out for dinner. Dinners usually lasted 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 hours (making it safe to say 4 hours expected), until they returned to... enjoy each other's company without the public, and then to sleep. Generally the same routine the next day.

There had been few pictures. At night, there had been none. Far too risky to use a flash, and without the flash it would be too dark for the camera to pick up their forms. In the daylight, only pictures from a distance. Cameras too, he believed, would attract their attention, and that was something he did _not_ want. Not yet anyway. He sighed. It was time to work.

He opened up the back of the truck and slid out, looking around for witnesses. After a quick glance at the windows of every house nearby he determined there were none. He walked slowly to the cab of the truck and opened the door on the driver's side, and climbed in. Once there, he reached into the glove box and retrieved the twin .45s and checked the magazines to make sure they were full. They were, and he slid them into their holsters- one in the jacket and the other on his hip. He liked to imagine himself a gunslinger sometimes, ridding the world of filth which slid along the ground and infected the populace. Sending them to hell. It was unfortunate to have been assigned these two however; he thought they made an interesting couple. Oh well.

LESSON ONE: NO RULES, NO REGRETS, NO REPRIEVES

After ten years in the business, he had had more tempting reasons to discard a job than the one he had now. And so he made his way to the house, circled around, and found the window he had chosen yesterday to enter through. He sincerely doubted they had any alarms. Why would _they_ of all people have an alarm? Alarms draw attention and police, and although they might believe themselves capable of eluding the suspicion of a few local yokels, it was unnecessary attention, and would require them to move away from the comfort they now had. This logic circled his brain as he punched a hole through the glass, head turned away and other gloved hand up to shield his face. His heart beat calmly as he looked over the tall fence into the neighbor's yard, into the dark house. He didn't know why he bothered. No one had been home in three days. He returned to the front yard and watched for lights coming on or people's heads in windows. Again, none.

LESSON TWO: LEAVE NO WITNESSES

There would be no witnesses. No living ones, in any case. He walked quietly back to the broken window and unlatched the door. When it swung open, he stepped inside calmly and shut the door behind him to keep the house from getting chilly. No reason to be uncomfortable during his stay here. He took 15 minutes to walk around the house, learning the layout and size. It was a lovely house, he decided. He glanced at his watch. 3 1/2 hours at the most. He moved back to the living room, and looked about.

A few very nice pictures of the couple hung on the walls, and there were quite a few expensive items of furniture. Immediately he set to work disarranging the furniture. Next he unplugged the TV and moved it into the kitchen, as well as the candlesticks and any other thing of value which could be moved. With the picture frames, he smashed the glass, ripped out the pictures, and took the frames into the living room. Then he sat down and had a cigarette. 2 1/2 hours. In approximately 2 hours he would open the living room door, and the illusion of a break-in would be complete. Chacal sat and waited in the gloom of the mangled living room for the targets and meditated on the fury of what was to come. After a few moments, a grin broke out on his face. What fun.

LESSON THREE: ENJOY YOUR WORK- THE TARGET/S WILL NOT.

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Whatever will happen to them? Continuation depends on reviews, so please review, if only for my sake. I have an ego to feed. Also, the title's a play off of Forsyth's book. I couldn't think of anything better.

Vilest of Worms


	2. Welcome Home

Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

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The Night of the Jackal

Ch2: Welcome Home

Chacal rested comfortably in their living room. His meditation had taken him away from the scene, although an internal alarm clock in his mind allowed him to monitor the time. His eyes stared blankly at the living room window. As cars passed, their headlights shone dimly through the closed blinds, making his eyes dilate wider and narrower without any other reaction. His quiet repose allowed for a more thorough examination of his features. Dark black hair slicked against his head to prevent interference with his vision (normally it spiked off his head in strange patches or hung limply in his eyes) and dark blue emotionless eyes. He was lightly tanned, but most of his skin was covered by black clothing to make him less noticeable. Overall he was unremarkable- which was a necessity in his line of work.

LESSON FOUR: YOU SHALL NOT BE UNIQUE

Uniqueness would be a death sentence. To be noticed meant screwing up a job, and screwing up a job meant two things: that you would not be paid or you would get your ass killed. Quite suddenly Chacal stood up and stretched his legs. ETA had reached 30 minutes. Time to _move_. With a brief glance to the room, re-checking his work, he decided that it would suffice and unlocked the front door. Chacal prevented himself from swinging the door open abruptly, instead looking out through the tall clouded windows to make sure no one was around. Reassured of his secrecy, he opened the door and stepped into the cold night air. He did not shiver. He left the door slightly ajar- the telltale sign of a break in. Next, Chacal walked to the side of the house, around the corner and into some shadows where he could be completely out of sight of the street. He could see the driveway without being seen, and would not be discovered unless someone walked back here. He almost hoped that someone would. Perhaps Lecter would send his wife/lover alone out to this chilly darkness between the two houses. How much easier it would be that way. He allowed himself a minute to work review the possiblities which would be presented.

LESSON FIVE: NEVER LET THE ACT GUIDE _YOU_. ALWAYS ACOUNT FOR EVERY POSSIBLITY.

Chacal was driven from his pensive reverie by the sound of an approaching car. _Jaguar 2005 XK,_ he knew without struggling to recall. The engine's roar was unmistakable. It was more sleek and grand than even his '67 Mustang. In any case: the targets were home. Chacal slowly sank to the ground behind some shrubberies and pressed himself against the house. Between the leaves he could see the driver get out cautiously and remove a small object from his jacket pocket. _Spyderco Civilian_, he knew from observation. Chacal smiled. He himself had a Buck knife on his back and a Stilletto on the inside of his left forearm. He was proficient in knife fights, having been in a few, and had allowed himself rely on knives before.

As Lecter exited the car, he approached the house cautiously. Starling climbed out as well and stood behind him. She spoke softly, but Chacal was still able to hear her.

"It looks like a break-in, Hannibal."

"So I see. And do you know if the 'burglars' are still inside?"

"Of course not."

"Then let's continue to proceed cautiously, shall we?"

Starling looked briefly indignant, but did not argue his logic.

Dr. Lecter cast a brief glance in Chacal's direction, but did not see him. Chacal had chosen the spot wisely. After another moment Starling shivered in the night air, and Lecter, seeing this, put an arm around her waist.

"Alright, Clarice. Inside then. I can't have you get sick, now can I?"

"So lead on."

Lecter nodded and walked to the front door. Clarice followed, apparently without any further caution. Chacal immediately stood up and walked as swiftly and silently as a lion in the final stages of the ambush, just before the prey is alerted to its presence.

Chacal caught Clarice just as she entered the door. In fluid motion, he put his Buck knife to her throat and pulled his .45, aiming at Dr. Lecter, who was then in the living room and presently examining the damage.

"If either of you move, I cut Starling's throat," said Chacal loudly. Lecter was not facing Chacal, so Chacal could not see his eyes glaring angrily. Still, he did not move. Instead, he spoke.

"It would be redundant to ask if you know with whom you are dealing with, so I will dispose of the usual banter. What do you want?"

"At the moment, to close this door. Keep still. I would hate to have this hand slip and cause unnecessary harm." With his foot, Chacal shut the door.

Starling had been debating whether or not now would be a good time for a leg sweep, but his knife pressed harder across her throat and the thought was banished. She couldn't even speak, for fear of causing more pressure on the knife.

When the door closed Dr. Lecter spoke again. "If you'll just take what you're after and leave, I'll give you a five minute headstart before I hunt you down."

"I don't want any of your things. What I want is for you to sit down cross-legged, facing me and Ms. Starling."

Here Clarice ventured to speak (the knife had eased off a tiny bit). "Mrs. Lecter to you."

"As you like. Face Mrs. Lecter, on the floor, hands on your head."

Dr. Lecter complied slowly. Had Chacal been a fraction weaker, he would have pissed himself in fear because of the look he received. Chacal kept the knife on Clarice at all times. If she got away from him now, there would be more trouble than he wanted. So far everything was going smoothly.

LESSON 6: SHOW NO EMOTION. YOU SHALL NOT BE A PERSON, BUT A MACHINE. ACT ACCORDINGLY.

Chacal had his favorite lesson (# 6) in mind as he pulled one of the syringes he kept on his belt. "You will inject this into your arm so that I can see it. Fuck around and the knife goes in."

Had Chacal known Dr. Lecter more intimately, or at least had more insight into his relationship with his wife, he would not have bothered to threaten him. Dr. Lecter would never allow himself to be the cause of her pain. Even if he was sorely tempted otherwise, which he was now.

Chacal tossed the syringe to Dr. Lecter, and it hit the ground inches in front of him. Dr. Lecter regarded it pointedly, and looked back up to Chacal. Chacal tightened his grip suddenly on Clarice, and she accidently released a squeak of surprise. Dr. Lecter's face softened, and he picked up the needle. Without flinching he inserted the needle and pushed in the plunger slowly.

Chacal watched with keen interest. He had put enough sedatives in that one to knock out a horse, so it should at least slow him down a bit. Dr. Lecter removed the offending needle as one would pick a flea off their arm. Chacal could see that he had indeed injected himself. Excellent.

"Would you mind removing that knife from my wife's neck now?" Dr. Lecter asked politely.

"Yes I would. We'll be staying exactly this way until you fall unconscious, even if it takes five more needles."

Clarice didn't know about the stranger, but she was getting cramped from having to stay absolutely still. Pressed as she was into his chest she could feel his heart thumping on her back. It beat serenely without any hint of exitement. It disturbed her to discover that this man was absolutely calm in dealing with one of the most notorious killers in history.

She decided to pay attention to her husband, who was staring alternately at her and her attacker. For a second he looked normal but as time went by, she could see his eyes were roving a little too uncontrollably. Then, as clamly as a child curling up in bed, he went to the ground with his eyes shut and began to sleep.

The moment passed by without Chacal moving. There was absolutely no chance that he would move from this position right away. He had seen a disgruntled drunk rise up out of what Chacal had thought unconsciousness to wheel about and try to escape. Not that he had, of course. It was simply a careless mistake to take it for granted that he had been asleep. And now, when a very dangerous serial killer (there was no denying _that_ point) lay here, possibly playing possum, to act without caution would be, in a word, STUPID. So he waited a minute longer.

For Clarice's part, she thought he might have fallen asleep behind her. Except that once the knife trembled. That was her only indication that he wasn't gone too. Then the knife went away and the hands moved quickly to pull her arms behind her back painfully. It happened so fast that she grunted in pain. Hannibal made no move on the floor. She believed he was really unconscious.

"Ow, you asshole," she hissed.

"Pardon me. Making sure he's asleep," he replied without feeling.

"What do you want from us?"

"Me? Nothing whatsoever. My employers? You'd have to ask them." Chacal was now much more at ease. Only one target to deal with. He would not tell him her his real motive yet, and to do so would only complicate things, so he humored her hopes.

"So who hired you?"

Chacal ignored the question and took the handcuffs from his pants with one hand and her arms in the other. When he snapped them shut around her wrists he began to lead her back towards the door. Always keeping her so that she could not see what he was doing, he opened the door and pulled her out of it, leaving the door open. Without speaking he led her to his truck and opened up the back.

Now she could see him. He looked to her, glanced to the open bed, under the camper, and then back to her. _Nope. Not gonna happen_, she thought.

"Get in," he said flatly.

_As if I didn't know what you wanted already_ thought Clarice balefully. She stood still and quiet.

"Get in or I throw you in. Pick one."

She stood still, daring him.

He shrugged his shoulders and came towards her, kneeling down to grab her around the thighs. Immediately she began kicking, trying to get free, but was forced into the truck despite her efforts. As he slid her in under the camper, she kicked him square between the legs. To her surprise a plastic -thock- rang out, and he grinned: his first emotion that he had shown her as of yet. The bastard was wearing a cup.

Through his smile he spoke again. "Stay."

He slammed the door closed, and stood by for a moment, making sure she would not be able to escape. No, things were running smoothly. She was in there till he let her go.

He spun on his heels and walked back to the house, removing his gun. From the car, Clarice saw this and began yelling. Chacal heard her, but kept moving as if he did not.

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Computer was broken. Would've had this out sooner otherwise. Please please review!!! Otherwise I'll just lose interest and stop writing.

Vilest of Worms


	3. Off We Go

Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

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The Night of the Jackal

Ch 3: Off We Go

Chacal relished the night air. He thought that it was actually quite calm despite the horrified yelling coming from the bed of the truck behind him. Chacal strolled up the walk to the open door serenely. As he came close, he suddenly stopped short. Better to be careful. He sidestepped a few feet and peeked through the window of the living room. Lecter was still on the floor, eyes closed. Chacal stood still for a moment, watching the doctor breathe. It was deep and regular- the sign of true sleep. It could rarely be imitated, too, making Chacal that much more secure.

An odd thought came to Chacal just then. He wondered what the target was dreaming of. He couldn't even imagine. More likely he was fighting to regain consciousness; the mind working perfectly but the body unable to process its commands. Chacal quickly brushed aside this line of thinking. It would not do to stand out here giving the target time to wake up. Yes, there were more drugs where the last came from, but they were not cheap and it was silly to waste what time he had at present.

LESSON SEVEN: WASTE NOT WANT NOT. USE ALL AVAILABLE RESOURCES TO YOUR ADVANTAGE.

Satisfied that the target was still quite sedated, Chacal reentered the living room. He walked cautiously, gun drawn and aimed at the target. Once he was within two feet, he said quietly, "If you surprise me my finger might just slip and where will your wife be if you're dead?" No response whatsoever. As a final test, Chacal rolled the target onto his stomach, and pulled a zip tie from his own pocket. After securing the doctor's hands behind his back, he kicked the man with some force in the back of the leg (pressure point). If the man had been anywhere near consciousness, that would have driven him out of it. And yet, here he was, still blissfully unaware of the very painful attack. So he _was_ still out of it, after all.

Chacal knelt down and began searching him for weapons and any other sharp objects. He found another knife in the jacket, which was removed immediately, as was the belt and shoes. Around the seams of the clothing he searched more, and found two pieces of wire (presumably to pick locks). Finally, it was with some concern that Chacal opened the target's mouth and searched for cyanide or anything usable. He doubted the doctor had swallowed anything which he could vomit up later for use. The target would have to be completely paranoid in that case, which, as he had seen, was not true. There was a very large difference between careful and paranoid, and many shades of grey in between. Careful was what the target was.

Chacal regarded the target with a little regret. It would be so much more enjoyable to keep him hidden in the country somewhere, his very presence a constant reminder to the world of its failure to do what Chacal could. But the prize for completing this job... it proved too tempting. And so he kneeled down next to the doctor, propped the man up to sitting position, and lifted him to his shoulder. Normally, the weight of an adult man would be too much, but, for various job-related reasons, Chacal had had.... practice.

Now, with the target draped unceremoniously over his shoulder, Chacal made his way to the front door and left. This time he shut it behind him. Without any further caution, Chacal walked to the back of his truck where Mrs. Lecter was still waiting, though quiet now. He tapped on the glass window and spoke. "I imagine you would like to make sure he's doing alright. It may have occurred to you to try to escape when I put him back there. I assure you- if you try _anything_ _at all_, I will dispatch him immediately. For his sake, back up towards the cab of the truck and _stay_."

Clarice complied without speaking. Chacal unlocked the truck with his one free hand and opened it, backing up to allow Clarice to have time to try whatever she wished. After a moment, Chacal dropped Lecter off of his shoulder and rolled him into the back of the truck, quickly slamming it shut when he was all the way in. Next, Chacal locked it, and checked it to make sure it would stay locked. It was secure. For the first time, Chacal allowed himself a moment of rest. Things were progressing quite smoothly. Now for the next phase: disposal.

LESSON EIGHT: MOVE QUICKLY. IF THE TARGET/S ARE SURPRISED, THEY WILL BE THAT MUCH MORE EASY TO MANEUVER.

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Sigh I hate this computer. It really spazzes out sometimes. Posting will probably be sporadic, but as long as I keep getting _reviews_ (hint, hint) I will keep writing. See you next time.

-Vilest of Worms


	4. Revelations

Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

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The Night of the Jackal

Ch4: Revelations

Chacal drove to a small meadow a few miles away that he had scouted out a few days before. Very few people walked through the area. It would be the perfect place to finish his job. The one complaint he had at the moment was the aggravating noise coming from the bed of the truck. It seemed that Mrs. Lecter was becoming irritated and/or desperate, and was kicking the metal barrier between the bed and the cab of the truck violently. Not only that, but she was yelling. That part was probably just to wake up her husband, but Chacal was losing his patience.

(BANG) "Where the," (BANG) "HELL are you," (BANG) "taking us?!" (BANG).

Chacal was quite able to hear her but was attempting to ignore the woman. This was becoming more and more difficult. Chacal congratulated himself on creating such an effective cage which would be impossible to escape once inside, but this noise was ridiculous. It was extremely grating to a man's nerves, especially since the man was used to being absolutely silent on these jobs. The irritation was shown when Chacal took a decidedly sharp turn, flinging his passengers to the metal side of the truck.

Clarice took this as a sign that her distraction was working.

(BANG) "Slow the," (BANG) "fuck down!" (BANG BANG).

Finally Dr. Lecter woke up. "Clarice, dear. What are you doing?"

Clarice smiled. "Trying to bug the shit out of that guy." She gave another kick. This time the car swerved again, without apparent cause, and Clarice and Lecter were flung to the side again.

"I see. It appears that your magic is working."

"Doesn't it always?" (BANG)

"True. Are you certain you want to anger him?"

"Why not?" (BANG). "Care to join me? It's almost fun." (BANG).

"I'm afraid I'll sit this one out. My strength hasn't come back yet."

"Oh well." (BANG). "STOP THIS FUCKING CAR!" (BANG).

As if in response, the terrain became uneven and Clarice and the doctor were tossed about cruelly, knocking into each other, the cold bed of the truck, the steel siding, and the hard camper ceiling. Clarice managed to get to one of the small immovable plastic windows. They were no longer on any streets. They were entering a forest where Clarice liked to run, sometimes. Not a good sign.

Chacal noted the lack of any poundings and smiled. He guessed that Mrs. Lecter had figured out what was happening, and what _would_ happen. Or maybe she had just accidently bashed her head on the metal interior. One could always hope.

In any case, Chacal drove deeper and deeper into the woods, heading to a small meadow along a dirt trail where his tire tracks would not be noticed as odd. Finally he came to an abrupt haltat the edge of the meadow, and smiled when he heard the two thumps coming from the bed of the truck. This place was perfect for his work: it was so far from civilization here that few joggers ever made it, and even less often would the park ranger come here to check on things. There would be sufficient coverage and few visitors to the area. Much nicer than a reservoir bottom.

Chacal climbed out of the cab. He did not remove any weapons. Instead, he reached across the steering wheel to grab at the handle of a shovel. It was time for the manual labor portion of the job. He walked to the bed of the truck and looked in one of the windows. Clarice and Dr. Lecter were both awake and doing well, it appeared. Chacal smiled at them as they glared. _If looks could kill,_ he thought amusedly. He waved a little at them, as if saying hello. It was like poking a caged animal with a stick. Funny. Mean, but funny.

Then Chacal's smile dropped and he turned away, ready to get to work. He walked to the spot he had picked out the day before in the light coming from the truck's headlights. The ground was nice and loose here, and would give no trouble as he began to dig. This might take a little while, but he had nothing if not patience and time. It wasn't as if the two in the truck were going anywhere.

The two in the truck were growing concerned. In the past, neither had come across someone who truly did not fear Dr. Lecter. There had been a few who put their fear aside, and only one person who had ever gotten over her fear, and she was currently in the same boat (or truck, rather) as the doctor himself. This was unchartered territory.

They could hear the soft noises of a shovel breaking through the soil and the pattering noise of dirt dropping on more dirt. It was quite clear what the man intended to do. So they began thinking of a plan which would get them out of this mess. Dr. Lecter doubted that their captor would be intimidated easily (especially since they were both locked in his truck at the moment), and if the digging were any indication of what was to come, wouldn't react to a pretended attempt to attack Clarice. Bribery might still be an option. Dr. Lecter had plenty of money. In fact, if this was a hired killer, which Dr. Lecter believed it was, outbidding the contractor would be best. He had grave doubts that he and Clarice would be able to get out of this any other way. The man was very expert.

Clarice looked out the window, straining to see what was going on. The man was shirtless, and digging a hole. Great. As she shifted her leg to get a bit more comfortable, she accidently kicked the truck again. Even though the thump was soft, Chacal's head jerked over to stare at the truck. Very attuned guard. After a moment, Chacal began digging again, but now Clarice knew that he was still paying attention to what was going on. Damn.

Clarice turned back to her husband. "Got any ideas about getting out of here?"

"Always. I imagine that the way to ending this is to bribe him."

"Why would that work?"

"Well, Clarice, it is quite obvious that this man is a hitman."

"I was afraid of that. So who do you think sent him?"

"Well, considering that this contract is on both our heads, I can only think only one option. Someone who has enough money to buy a killer with this expertise, and who would have the connections."

"Yeah, yeah. I see your reasoning. You know, I'm really starting to hate the FBI."

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That's enough writing for now. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. Please, feel free to do so again. No really. Please! One more chapter left.......

-Vilest of Worms


	5. The Money

Disclaimer: I don't own Starling, Lecter, etc. You know this. But now the question arises: Why are you still reading this? The story's down there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Night of the Jackal

Ch5: The Money

It took Chacal an hour to complete the final resting place of Mr. and Mrs. Lecter. He heaved himself up out of the muddy hole and wiped off his hands in a gesture of finality. Chacal knew that it wasn't going to remove much of the dirt on his hands, but he suspected that one or both of the clients were watching him.

Chacal turned to look into the grave, glancing around first to spot any witnesses. As planned, there was no one. No cars, no dogs, nothing. The hole itself was about five feet deep (whoever said graves had to be six feet deep could go fuck himself) and just long and wide enough to fit two bodies, if they fell on top of each other. Fell, dumped; Chacal wasn't one to argue semantics. In any case, it would do wonderfully. He sauntered back to the truck and pulled his shirt back on. Then he climbed into the cab to review the plan for getting one of them out of the truck, shooting them, and getting them into the hole so fast that the other wouldn't have time to think.

He glanced at his watch then. It was 12:47. Chacal still had plenty of time to get these two into the ground and into the next world. He sighed contentedly and took out his gun, reaching back to the glove compartment to pull out a silencer. With the utmost care Chacal screwed the silencer into the muzzle of the gun and hopped out of the truck with renewed energy.

Chacal sauntered around until he was at the window of the camper. As he peered inside, he could see that Dr. Lecter and Clarice were whispering to each other. Instinct warned him that they were plotting a way to escape, but Chacal did not believe that such escape was possible. When Clarice looked up at the window there was a trace of fear behind her eyes which did not escape Chacal's notice. Chacal doubted they had a plan. The result of such would have been arrogance or at the least _confidence_, but there was nothing to suggest that Mrs. Lecter had anything of the kind.

Dr. Lecter was a different story entirely. While there was no arrogance in his face, Chacal knew that he would not find any fear. Chacal doubted that _anything_ he did would elicit that particular emotion. Chacal looked on indifferently. It would be a waste of time to try threats; better to just get this over with. Chacal spoke with the compassion of a gleaming scalpel, and with similar purposes to one.

"Mrs. Lecter. I will open the door, you will exit the truck. Any sudden movements and I will draw out your demise, which, incidentally, is imminent. Have you anything to say?"

"If you think either of us are going to make this easy, you are a fool."

"Fair enough," Chacal quipped, unaffected. Without warning he pressed the muzzle to the window and pulled the trigger, shattering the small opening with a loud _crack_ and, after another paranoid glance about the deserted area, pulled the hammer back once again. The gun was currently aimed directly at Clarice; far enough inside the cab to make avoidance of the bullet impossible, yet drawn back enough to make it exceedingly difficult to kick away.

Dr. Lecter interrupted this loudly. "STOP!" he commanded. Chacal's face remained unchanged, but he did not fire the weapon. The doctor's mind raced for a way to diffuse this situation. He simply hadn't had enough experience with the killer to thoroughly dissect his mind, and the uncertainties would make negotiations very tentative, so Dr. Lecter thought for a moment.

Chacal pursed his lips before speaking. "Well? I do admit, I hadn't wished to shoot you _inside_ the truck... blood stains are traceable... but do not think for a minute that that will give me a moment's hesitation. Why should I 'stop'?"

"Because you will miss out on a great deal more money than you are currently being paid. Put simply, if you let us go, I will outbid your contractor."

Chacal retracted the gun from the broken window. "We'll see. What are you offering to pay?"

Lecter glanced at Clarice. "Much."

"To give you an estimate, I get 25 grand for each client. I want triple what they give. Yes, that seems fair," Chacal mused pleasantly. "Definitely. $150,000 and I will allow you both to live."

"$100,000," Dr. Lecter responded.

Chacal fired his weapon into the truck, penetrating the space inches away from Clarice's head. He glared warningly at the doctor, who was silent, but internally shaken. "You'll only have to pay $75,000 if I kill your wife, actually. Would you prefer that alternative? Save yourself a few bucks?" Chacal began speaking more rapidly. "No more games, Doctor. What is your choice? Live or die?"

"Live," Lecter replied, without hesitation.

"Good. I think that works out best for all parties. Well, excepting my employer, of course."

"How do you plan on dealing with the FBI?"

Chacal smiled at that, but wasn't entirely surprised that they had guessed who wanted them dead. "Leave that part to me. Your concern is now getting me my money. I must say, I don't trust you at all to not try to screw me out of my money, so... I will continue to hold Clarice until payment is received."

"Who's to say I won't just abandon her once I'm free?"

"Even if you do, I can sell her mangled, _raped_, and then deceased body to the FBI for the $25,000. They'll even blame _you_. Incidentally, I have been meaning to test out some new toys."

"You're lying."

"Even if I were, it is rather foolish to accuse me of it. In any case I _do_ hate being lied _to_, so be sure that you complete your end of our deal."

"How do you propose to let me go?"

"I open the door, and you get out of my truck. Mrs. Lecter stays, you SLAM the door shut again. Then you walk away. I get back in and drive away. And if I suspect you've left that door open for Mrs. Lecter, I'll run you the fuck down. I'll leave a message on your doorstep with my numbered account. You will transfer $150,000 to that account. Then I release your wife. Slick as grease. Do you agree to these terms?"

"Of course I do," Dr. Lecter said blandly. At her corner, Clarice's shoulders sagged slightly in relief.

"Excellent," Chacal said. He tucked the gun into his pants and walked to the back of the truck. Quickly, he opened it, retrieved the gun once again, and allowed Dr. Lecter to exit.

Dr. Lecter stretched his legs and back once he was out of the cramped bed of the truck.

"Shut the door. And make sure it _is_ shut," Chacal ordered.

Dr. Lecter sighed, gave an assuring look to Clarice, and slammed the door closed again.

"Now walk 100 yards back towards the road," Chacal said. Dr. Lecter walked quickly away.

Chacal smiled and got back into the truck after giving Clarice a wink.

Inside the truck, Clarice started. That wasn't a good wink. She flung herself at the window. Dr. Lecter was still walking, with his back to the truck. As it was, he couldn't see what Chacal was doing. The truck started and flew into motion, causing Clarice to slam herself against the divider between the cab and the bed of the truck. Ouch. The vehicle swung around and roared towards the road, quickly closing the gap between it and Dr. Lecter.

The truck did not hit him, however. It sped right past him, leaving a trail of dust and flying debris as it went. Moments later it was out of Doctor Lecter's sight, and he began to jog in the direction of his house.

When he arrived home an hour later, there was indeed an evelope with the name of Chacal's bank (it was Swiss, as he expected), and the number. It was still too early in the morning to do any banking, so Doctor Lecter began rearranging the house, putting it back in order. He performed small, menial tasks, avoiding thinking about Clarice's current situation.

The next day $150,000 was transferred to Chacal's account.

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From his home fifty miles away, Chacal grinned as he saw his new balance with the Swiss bank. Clarice was tied to a chair a few feet behind him, and could see that he had been paid.

He had not spoken to her at all since she was brought to the near-empty room. She had maintained her calm, despite the dismal settings. The floor was gray concrete, the walls bare, no furniture besides the computer Chacal was using to look at his account and the two chairs they sat on, and it had been almost completely silent until Chacal entered to use the computer. It had also been mostly dark, except for the small window near the ceiling which told her she was in a basement in the cabin. It provided the only light.

"So, Mrs. Lecter, it looks like your husband came through," Chacal murmured.

"Of course he did," Clarice said. "When he agrees to do something, he does it."

"I believe you are implying that I don't. Well, it's only partly true."

"You just held out for the better deal," Clarice scoffed.

"Actually, your husband blurted it out a second before I pulled the trigger. I fully intended to dispose of you."

"Please, you're getting paid three times what you would have made killing me."

"I admit, that I was planning on getting money from Dr. Lecter." Chacal stood up and turned, backlit by the bright white computer screen. "But what," Chacal said softly, as he walked slowly to Clarice, "makes you think that I'm not going to kill _you_? After all, you're worth $25,000 more from the FBI."

Clarice had time to release a short scream before Chacal cut it short.

----------------------------------------------------

Doctor Lecter was sitting in the chair meditatively when he heard a squeal of tires from outside. When he looked out, the truck the killer had used was driving away and there was Clarice on the ground, motionless. He rushed outside to her, nearly breaking the wall as the door slammed into it.

She wasn't dead. She was badly beaten, and it looked as though Chacal had strangled her a bit, because there were bruises around her neck, but she wasn't dead. Dr. Lecter did not want to know if she had been raped. At least, for now he didn't. He picked her up gently and carried her inside, to clean her up.

As he was removing the torn clothing he found a folded-up paper taped to her skin. Dr. Lecter set it aside until he had cleaned Clarice's cuts and she was resting peacefully in their bed.

Once she was taken care of, Doctor Lecter turned to the killer's note.

It read:

_Dear Dr and Mrs Lecter,_

_You'll have to forgive me for my rough treatment of Clarice. It was rather important she looked dead when I sent her pictures to the FBI. I do not imagine I'll be seeing either of you again, although the FBI might always send me a new contract on _your_ head, Doctor. _

_Until then,_

_X_

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That's all folks; no more! Pardon all the delays. (sigh) It was tempting to kill them, but I found a much more interesting alternative. Anyway: please please REVIEW!

-Vilest of Worms

PS: It occured to me that readers might not know this: Chacal actually means Jackal in French. Again, stealing from the book, but, I didn't want the hitman to have a name.


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